Disclaimer:

see chapter 1.

Chapter 2:  tragedy

The dark haired elf stopped in his steps and turned around when he heard the sound of hurried hoof beats nearing the courtyard in front of the Last Homely House. He was just on his way back from delivering some reports to the Warriors’ Office. The Lord of the house had asked him to take over some of Lord Erestor´s duties while he was not in Imladris.

He narrowed his eyes trying to determine who was rushing into the valley like this. His eyes widened when he recognized Lord Glorfindel at the head of a group of warriors. He brought his mount to an abrupt halt just in front of the steps leading to the main entrance; an action that caused the horse to whinny in protest. Apologetically patting the great white stallion on his neck after dismounting, the Balrog Slayer gave a signal to his men and hurried up the stairs straight toward the dark haired minstrel.

Hastily Lindir surveyed the patrol members but could not detect any sign that would warrant such haste. He had feared to see injured among them, but all, including Lord Glorfindel, seemed well enough, as far as he could tell.

Since the golden warrior had almost reached him, Lindir had no time to continue his observations. With a bow he greeted the Troop Commander. “Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel. I welcome you and your patrol back to Imladris.” He could not entirely keep the confusion out of his voice.

The tall elf returned the greeting with a nod of his head, but did not hesitate to ask. “Mae govannen Lindir, unfortunately I’m in great haste. Can you tell me where I can find Lord Elrond? I have to speak with him immediately.”

Noting with irritation that the warriors had still not dismounted Lindir nonetheless hurried to answer. “Lord Elrond is still in counsel with the representatives from Ardent, my Lord and……”

The dark haired scribe stopped short when the Balrog Slayer looked at him with eyes full of disbelief. Not knowing what had caused the irritation of the warrior, the slender elf swallowed.

Briefly looking back at his men Glorfindel took a deep breath when he faced the minstrel again. “Lindir, not an hour ago we found the bodies of the four traders from Ardent, including the mayor’s son, on the path leading toward Imladris. They were attacked and killed and robbed of all their belongings.”

Looking in disbelief at the golden warrior Lindir paled and stepped back. “But, my Lord, the merchants arrived in the morning and have been negotiating with Lord Elrond since….” He trailed off when the implication hit him. He had personally greeted the guests and announced them to his Lord, yet the Troop Commander was now telling him they were dead? He swallowed again.

His concern growing while watching the scribe, and easily guessing his thoughts, Glorfindel did not bother to wait to see what conclusion Lindir would come to. He went around the shocked elf and hurried through the entrance hall toward Lord Elrond’s office.

A very bad feeling began to spread in his stomach while he hastened down the long corridor. He was deeply disturbed about the violent act committed on the merchants, but the foreboding he felt now was nothing compared to that.

Recognizing the hurried footsteps of Elrond’s assistant behind him, Glorfindel hesitated only briefly when he reached the office. Hearing no voices or sounds behind the door he determinedly pressed the door handle down and pushed the heavy oak door open.

Glorfindel had seen many horrible sights in his long life while being involved in many conflicts, but the scene that greeted him now made him gasp and momentarily falter in his steps.

There, in front of the massive oak desk not five feet from where he stood, lay the Master of Rivendell, the Lord of this House and his best friend, in a great puddle of blood, unmoving. Lindir, having reached the door, managed to halt his hurried advance before he bumped into the suddenly frozen warrior.

His heart pounding wildly, not from the short run but from the dread that was assailing him, Lindir carefully peered around the warrior still standing at the threshold. What he saw froze his blood in his veins. A cry of utter shock escaped him while he stood frozen like the Troop Commander. Lindir was by no means a warrior and was not accustomed to such a sight. He could not comprehend what he saw before him.

Ripped from his shocked state by Lindir´s cry Glorfindel hurried forward and quickly knelt beside the dark haired Elf-Lord. The amount of blood soaking the tunic and already staining the carpet was alarming.

The fear of what he might find while he stretched out a hand to feel for a heartbeat made his hand tremble. The world around him seemed to have ceased to exist while he concentrated on detecting the pounding he hoped to find.

Long seconds passed until he could feel the weak pounding beneath his finger tips. Closing his eyes Glorfindel let out a breath of relief, yet he knew that a heartbeat was no guarantee for survival.

Letting his eyes wander over the still body he shuddered while he tried to imagine how much time had already gone by. Lindir had told him that Elrond was in council since the morning and now it was long past midday. How long had the Elf-Lord lain there without help?

With every passing minute, anger grew more in his heart. What in all of Middle Earth had happened here? Why had no one noticed what happened in this office? Surely four men attacking the Lord of this house had produced some noise? Elrond had certainly not been attacked without fighting back, had he? And how had the men left afterwards? Someone must have noticed!

Glorfindel shook his head. All those questions had to wait but he would get his answers. The important thing now was to save his Lord’s life. Carefully he lifted the soaked tunic the dark haired elf was wearing and looked with narrowed eyes at the gaping holes covering the back. He counted three and realized with dismay that they were still bleeding.

This was positive information at least. The attack could not have happened long ago, otherwise the bleeding would have stopped by now. Regardless, the wounds had to be deep to produce such a great amount of blood.

While ripping the tunic further apart, Glorfindel registered only subconsciously that Lindir had finally managed to come over and slump beside him.

Grabbing a tablecloth from a nearby table Glorfindel pressed it as firmly as he dared over the wounds, covering them as best he could, to staunch the blood flow.

Shock and anger still raging in his veins the warrior looked up into the pale face of Lindir. The scribe’s eyes were still wide and transfixed at the motionless figure on the ground. Trying to control his agitated nerves Glorfindel fixed the minstrel with his stare and said sternly. “Lindir, fetch Tinár!” When he got no response, he lifted one of his blood covered hands and shoved the scribe hard. “Lindir, the healer, now!” he shouted while turning back to resume his effort.

Startled by the shout the dark haired minstrel scrambled to his feet and turned to obey the warrior’s demand. The shout however had not only alerted Lindir but a good many other inhabitants now crowding around the open door. The minstrel had some problems to squeeze past the shocked elves. Only the ones in the front row could see what was happening and cries of distress and shock rose in number and volume.

Glorfindel looked dismayed at the onlookers, angry at them for only staring at him while he felt the life of his friend flow away under his very hands but otherwise grateful that no one dared to cross the threshold. They wouldn’t be of help anyway. Glorfindel would only allow Elrond’s chief healing assistant Tinár to come closer, and he prayed for him to get there quickly.

While waiting, another thought assaulted the warriors raging mind. What had become of the men? Where they still in the house or long gone from the valley? Involuntarily Glorfindel looked around nearly expecting the men to be lingering in the shadow behind some curtain or tapestry. The warrior shook his head. It would not matter where they had gone. They would not get away with this.

Looking at the ashen face of the Elf-Lord Glorfindel had to convince himself again that the dark haired elf still drew breath. The table cloth was already thoroughly soaked with blood. The Balrog Slayer was restless and kept looking at the door with impatience. What was taking the healer so long?

After another minute and at the end of his patience the warrior couldn’t contain his anxiety any longer. “Tinár!” he yelled.

All murmurs and exclamations at the door stopped immediately. The one word had contained authority, worry and desperation, enough to shock the bystanders to silence.

Only seconds after the shout the crowd parted and the healer rushed past the gathered elves. Already informed by the minstrel he nonetheless looked with dread at the sight before him. He quickly closed the door in the face of the gathered inhabitants and strode over to where Glorfindel was kneeling. He assessed the situation and knelt beside the Balrog Slayer.

“What took you so long?” the warrior asked in an irritated tone, looking sharply at the healer. Ignoring both the tone and the question, knowing that they were born out of stress, the healer bent over and gently but firmly pried the hands of the warrior loose.

“Let me see, my Lord,” he uttered in a calm voice in the hope to placate the riled up blond a bit. With practiced movements the healer checked the heartbeat and probed the wounds one after the other.

Emotionally drained, Glorfindel leaned back to give the healer more room but hovered near enough to lend assistance if required. He wondered at how calm the younger elf appeared to be. This was no usual patient in the infirmary after all and their time was running short, as far as he could tell. But he dared not interrupt the healer’s examination, although he had great difficulty to not urge the healer to go faster. Tinár was, after all, the expert here.

Again he wondered how this situation had come to be. How could the men have overpowered a trained warrior like the Elf-Lord? True Elrond had not had much combat practice in the last years but moves and reflexes acquired in long times past and during many battles could not be undone and would easily match the fighting skills of any man.

Jolted back to attention through the healer’s next words Glorfindel´s face paled even further when his mind registered what the healer had said. “This amount of blood cannot result from these three wounds only, there must be another.”

Furrowing his brow Glorfindel berated himself silently. He had not even considered searching for other wounds after seeing the extent of damage these wounds had done. He helped the healer to carefully turn the body of the Elf-Lord a bit to the side and in the next instant he saw that the younger elf was correct in his assumptions.

The tunic was stained red at two other places on the dark haired elf’s side. Glorfindel felt sick. The three wounds on the back had surely brought down the tall elf, why attack him once more? Glorfindel closed his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly. He had seldom seen such an act of brutality.

However, when the healer beside him touched his shoulder lightly he opened his eyes quickly and directed his gaze towards the other elf.

“I must get him to the surgery.” Tinár said in an intense but soft voice. “Here I can accomplish nothing. My Lord, could you please carry him? I will rush ahead and prepare all that is necessary.”

Already on his feet the healer stopped in surprise when he got no response from the still kneeling warrior. He turned around knowing that he had to rip the shocked elf from his state of shock. “Glorfindel, now!” he shouted louder than necessary in the hope of breaking through to his companion by using the warrior’s name.

Startled, the golden warrior did not even look up but jumped to his feet and carefully scooped the motionless body into his arms. Satisfied Tinár turned and strode toward the door to open it for the Troop Commander and his charge.

The elves still lingering outside the door gasped when the door was pushed open so suddenly but the murmurs stopped immediately, when Glorfindel hurried past them with the Master of Rivendell in his arms. Glorfindel could feel the stares following him and heard exclamations of worry and sorrow following him.

Shutting everything else out the tall warrior focused only on delivering the elf in his arms as quickly as possible into capable hands. He only hoped that there was enough time left to call the Elf-Lord back from the brink of death.

He could clearly feel that life was quickly leaving the body he was carrying.

To be continued……………………………..